Chapter Eight
Jayla
The diamond ring sat between Malachi and me during the entire ride back to his estate.
Neither of us touched it.
Rain streaked the tinted windows while camera flashes followed the SUV away from the hotel. Reporters shouted questions from behind barricades, but all I could hear was the message Kenzie had sent me.
Evelyn Bennett didn’t die from cancer. Ask him what his father did to your grandmother.
Malachi sat across from me with his elbows resting on his knees. His face had returned to the cold, controlled mask he wore whenever other people were around.
Dorian occupied the passenger seat, pretending not to watch us through the mirror.
“Say something,” I demanded.
Malachi’s eyes met mine.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth would be refreshing.”
“I told you what I know.”
“You told me pieces.”
“Because I have pieces.”
“Then give me all of them.”
He picked up the ring and placed it inside his coat.
“My father used your grandmother’s credentials to access restricted shipping records in 2006.”
My anger temporarily lost its voice.
“What?”
“I learned that this morning.”
“You stood beside me at that press conference knowing he involved her?”
“I knew he accessed records through her account. I didn’t know whether she helped him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted proof before accusing a dead man.”
“But you had no problem accusing my grandmother.”
“I never accused her.”
“You made her sound involved.”
“She was involved.”
“Without her permission!”
“We don’t know that.”
I leaned forward.
“My grandmother would never help somebody commit a crime.”
“My father may have been trying to expose one.”
“You don’t get to make him the hero before you know the truth.”
“And you don’t get to make Evelyn innocent simply because you loved her.”
The words hit me like a slap.
Dorian turned slightly.
“Crown.”
Malachi’s jaw tightened.
“I said that incorrectly.”
“No, you said exactly what you meant.”
“My father was murdered. Your grandmother died under suspicious circumstances. Neither of us can afford to build conclusions around who we wanted them to be.”
“My grandmother raised me.”
“And my father raised me.”
His voice remained level, but pain moved behind it.
For a moment, I saw something besides power and control. I saw the seventeen-year-old boy who had stood at his parents’ funeral with three younger siblings depending on him.
Then I remembered the information he withheld.
“Your grief doesn’t give you permission to manage mine.”
“No.”
“Stop agreeing after you’ve already done whatever you wanted.”
His eyes lowered.
It was the closest thing to shame I had seen from him.
“We need to verify whether the photograph of Kenzie is recent,” Dorian said, carefully interrupting us. “The background may identify where she’s being held.”
“She said she never meant for this to happen,” I replied. “That means somebody forced her.”
“It could also mean she’s manipulating you,” Malachi said.
“You think everyone is manipulating me.”
“Several people are.”
“Including you.”
He didn’t deny it.
The SUV passed through the estate gates.
Imani was waiting inside the foyer.
“You took off the ring,” she said.
“That’s what you noticed?”
“It’s all over the internet. Half the blogs say you broke up. The other half say Crown cheated.”
Malachi stopped beside me.
“How did they reach that conclusion?”
“You’re rich, attractive, and emotionally unavailable,” I said. “People filled in the blanks.”
Imani looked between us.
“So, are we still pretending?”
“No,” I answered.
“Yes,” Malachi said simultaneously.
I turned toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“Our private arrangement has changed. The public story cannot.”
“You don’t decide that alone.”
“Removing you from my protection publicly would confirm Bishop succeeded.”
“Then tell everyone we had an argument.”
“About what?”
“The fact that you lie.”
“I omit.”
“That is lying in a custom suit.”
Imani held up both hands.
“I’m going to check on Zo?.”
She disappeared upstairs.
Coward.
Malachi motioned toward the conservatory.
“Micah is examining Kenzie’s picture.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you apologize.”
Dorian became fascinated by the ceiling.
Malachi stared at me.
“For what specifically?”
“All of it would be a wonderful start.”
“I’m sorry I withheld information about your grandmother.”
“Keep going.”
“I’m sorry I announced our engagement before discussing it with you.”
“That apology is several days late, but continue.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I’m sorry my father’s actions may have harmed Evelyn.”
“And?”
“What else?”
“For what you said in the car.”
He remained quiet.
I folded my arms.
Malachi released a slow breath.
“I’m sorry I suggested your love for your grandmother made you incapable of seeing the truth.”
“Thank you.”
“Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“An apology.”
I laughed directly in his face.
“For accusing me of hiding information before you knew I had hidden information.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“It does to me.”
“You should discuss that with a therapist.”
“I have one.”
That surprised me enough to end the argument.
Micah sat inside the conservatory with three computers surrounding him. Kenzie’s photograph occupied the largest screen.
Asha stood beside him while Simone entertained Zo? near the windows.
“What did you find?” Malachi asked.
“The image was taken tonight,” Micah answered. “The metadata was stripped, but the television behind Kenzie reflected part of a window.”
He enlarged a blurry section.
A blue-and-white building appeared in the reflection.
“I recognize that,” Dorian said. “Devereaux Maritime terminal.”
Malachi went still.
“The abandoned one?” Asha asked.
“It isn’t abandoned,” he replied. “Julian has been using it for private storage.”
“Then Julian has Kenzie,” I said.
“Or Bishop wants us to believe he does.”
I touched the screen.
Kenzie had a bruise near her eye. Her hands were tied loosely enough that I could see a gap between the rope and her wrist.
“She could get out of that.”
Malachi moved beside me.
“What?”
“The rope. It’s too loose.”
“You think the picture was staged?”
“I think she wanted it to look like she was being held.”
Asha studied the photograph.
“Why?”
“To make me trust her.”
Kenzie knew me. She knew guilt would overpower anger if I believed she was hurt.
“I still want to find her,” I said.
“We will,” Malachi answered.
“Not before we find my grandmother’s box.”
His attention shifted to me.
“What box?”
“Grandma had a wooden memory box. Bishop asked Nasir whether she left me a key. My mother took several things after the funeral. She may have taken it.”
“Where is Rochelle now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where your mother lives?”
“We don’t exchange Christmas cards.”
Micah began typing.
“Rochelle Bennett has an apartment in Los Angeles.”
“She did,” I said. “She moves whenever the rent catches up with her.”
“Her most recent driver’s license lists Las Vegas.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
Malachi looked toward Dorian.
“Find her.”
“You aren’t dragging my mother here.”
“I’m locating her.”
“I want to search Grandma’s room first.”
“Your house remains an active crime scene.”
“Then it should be full of police officers.”
“Bishop controls some of them.”
“I’m going.”
Malachi’s mouth tightened.
“I’ll take you.”
“I can go without you.”
“You can. I’ll still follow.”
“That is called stalking.”
“Tonight, it’s called security.”
An hour later, six vehicles surrounded my brownstone.
Apparently, Malachi didn’t know how to do anything quietly.
The front door had been forced open.
Drawers covered the floor. Couch cushions had been sliced apart, picture frames broken, and books ripped from their shelves.
Someone had destroyed the home Grandma spent her life protecting.
I stepped over a broken lamp.
“They searched after Imani left,” Dorian said.
Malachi remained behind me without touching.
“Where was Evelyn’s room?”
“Upstairs.”
I climbed the steps alone.
Grandma’s bedroom smelled faintly of her rose powder beneath the dust and strangers’ footprints. Her mattress had been overturned. Her closet doors hung open, and the blue dresses she wore to church had been thrown onto the floor.
I gathered them against my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Malachi stopped in the doorway.
He remained there until I spoke.
“You can come in.”
He stepped carefully around the clothing.
“Where did she keep the box?”
“Top shelf.”
The shelf was empty.
I lowered myself onto the floor and searched beneath the bed. My hand struck something taped underneath the wooden frame.
I pulled free a small envelope.
My name was written across the front in Grandma’s handwriting.
My fingers began trembling.
Malachi knelt several feet away.
“You don’t have to open it now.”
“Yes, I do.”
Inside was a photograph of me at eight years old, sitting in the community art center where Grandma enrolled me in my first painting class.
On the back, she had written:
Jayla, if the past ever comes looking for me, remember where you first learned to make broken things beautiful. Trust the work, not the name attached to it.
Beneath the message was a series of painted stars.
The same constellation pattern I had placed on the sneakers.
“She knew,” I whispered.
Malachi studied the photograph without taking it.
“Your grandmother created the cipher.”
“And Kenzie knew enough to bring it to me.”
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Malachi stood immediately.
He pushed me behind him and drew his weapon.
“Dorian?”
Nobody answered.
A shadow moved across the doorway.
Malachi aimed.
My mother stepped into the room with a gun pointed directly at him.
Rochelle Bennett looked older than the last time I saw her, but she still carried herself like a woman who believed every room owed her attention.
“Move away from my daughter,” she ordered.
Malachi’s gun remained steady.
“Put yours down.”
“Not until you give me the key.”
My mother’s eyes found mine.
“Hello, Jayla.”
I stared at the woman who had abandoned me for most of my life.
“You work for Bishop?”
Her smile held no warmth.
“Baby, Bishop works for me.”